If You Love Something, Set it Free
by RiverSongTam
Summary: This story takes place right after S05E16, "The Dark Side of the Moon." Dean felt guilty about tossing the amulet. So guilty, in fact, he even drove back to that motel and spent hours rifling through their dumpsters looking for it. His search unsuccessful, Dean returned to the motel where he'd ditched Sammy. Now, Sam is awake and demanding an explanation of where Dean's been.


Dean stumbled out of the Impala, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand before the stench of his sleeve assaulted him. He dropped his arm, shaking his head. Sure, he'd smelled week old corpses, Wendigo's lairs, and copious amounts of sulfur in his life, but _nothing _compared to the stench of that roach-motel's garbage. And Dean would know, as he'd spent the last two freaking _hours_ sifting through the trash bags crammed into three giant metal bins.

It was almost four in the morning. Dean was tired and filthy. He smelled like rotting fruit and dirty diapers. But all that was a pleasant distraction from the frustration coiling around his stomach, squeezing his insides like a python. He steadied himself, one hand on the hood of the Impala, and took a deep breath (through his mouth). He didn't know how he'd be able to face Sammy in the morning. Because he hadn't found it.

It was a stupid, childish thing to do in the first place. But Dean hadn't cared—not right then, anyway. He was pissed—livid. Almost wished for a dozen demons to storm their room, just to have a chance to work off some steam gutting the bastards.

Everything was turning to shit right before his eyes. God was choosing to sit around and twiddle his thumbs while the apocalypse tore the world apart. Hell, whether he was getting off on all this or just didn't give a shit, Dean didn't care. All that mattered was that he was no help. Cas was obviously in a bad place when he left—Dean knew the angel well enough to know he wouldn't take the news of his father's disinterest very well. Unlike Sam and Dean, he'd yet to adjust to the idea that fathers could be disappointing sometimes. And Sammy—

Well, as it turned out, Sammy didn't need Dean as much as he'd always thought he had. Didn't even want him, apparently. Dean had seen his heavens, and as far as he could tell, he didn't have a place in any of them. So, yeah, Dean was pretty pissed at him too. If he were to be truly, chick-flick honest with himself, he'd admit he was even—hurt—by Sam's version of eternal bliss.

So some part of him had wanted to hurt Sam back. And that's why he thought dumping the amulet in the trash was a good idea. He could stick it to God and Sam all at once.

Of course, after a few hours' drive and a crossed state line's worth of perspective, Dean started to regret his decision. Throw the amulet away? Maybe Sam didn't have a lot of happy memories of their childhood together, but Dean sure as hell did. That Christmas, for one. Maybe Dean's idea to swipe a few presents for Sam hadn't turned out as well as he'd hoped (how was he to know they were all chick presents? Although, Sammy's face when he'd opened that Barbie doll _had_ been priceless!), but the night turned out ok.

Sam had handed Dean that present he'd chosen for Dad, his boyish face already nailing that stoic-yet-wounded look he wore so much. "I want you to have it," he'd said. And Dean had loved it, even told Sam so. He wore it all the time. Even when Sam left for Stanford. Even when Alastair was cutting into him in the Pit. Even when Sam was going off the rails, running around with Ruby and gulping demon blood like it was whiskey, Dean still wore that amulet. Did he really want to give it up forever just because Sam had hurt his feelings?

No, he didn't.

So while Sam carried their bags into their next motel room, Dean took off. He drove back, all the way to the shit hole where he and Sam were gunned down several hours ago. He broke into their room first, holding onto the vain hope that the trash hadn't been taken out. The bin was empty, but that seemed to be all that had been done to the room in the Winchester's absence. The place was no cleaner than they'd left it, and all they'd done was hide the worst of the damage the buckshot and blood had wreaked on the place.

Discouraged, but not exactly surprised, Dean tried the dumpsters next. Flashlight in hand, he opened bag after bag of garbage. He learned things he didn't want to know about the motel's patrons. He found so many used condoms he toyed with the idea of trying out abstinence. But no amulet. Only when he'd searched every bag twice and done a thorough sweep of the bottom of and ground around the bins did Dean admit defeat. Then, sweaty and gross, he drove back to Sam.

Now he stood outside their room, key in hand. He sighed. He only hoped Sammy was asleep already, so he wouldn't have to explain his disappearance. Or his _appearance, _for that matter. He was sure he looked even worse than he smelled.

Dean crept up to the door, turned the key in the lock noiselessly, and padded halfway across the ink-black room to the queen-sized bed that was his for the night, when a desk lamp switched on, flooding the space in flickering yellow light. Sam sat in a chair in the far corner of the room, watching Dean.

"And what sort of time do you call this?" Sam asked, his lip quirking up in a half smile that Dean knew his little brother too well to mistake for the genuine article.

"Bite me," Dean grumbled, dropping onto the foot of his bed.

He then remembered how filthy he was, and that he'd actually have to _sleep_ on that mattress, and sprang back to his feet.

"Seriously, Dean," Sam said, standing up and crossing the room to stand next to him.

Dean was once again reminded of those extra few inches Sam had on him as his brother stared down at him, eyebrows raised.

"Where _were_ you? You can't just take off on me like that," he said. "How was I supposed to know if you were just pissed and run off, or if you'd—"

"If I'd said yes to Michael?" Dean demanded, meeting Sam's eyes. "Oh, believe me, if I _do_ say yes, you'll know it."

"All right," Sam said, raising his arms in surrender and taking a half-step back. "So where were you?"

"I—" Dean scratched his chin and glanced at his boots. The soles were coated in thick black goo from the dumpsters. He decided he didn't want to know what it was.

He idly debated lying to Sam about his adventure, but then decided there was no point. He was too tired to think up a convincing lie, and honestly, too drained to care.

"I was trying to get the amulet back," he said.

"The amulet?" Sam echoed.

"Yeah," Dean said, looking back at him again. "Don't go getting sentimental on me! I just figured—all right, so maybe God wants to give up on this whole mess. That doesn't mean we have to _let_ him. Cas thought that amulet was our best lead on finding him, so it didn't make much since to just toss it, once I, you know, thought about it."

"Right," Sam said.

He shook his head, snorted a little.

"Fine, Dean, whatever," he said.

"What?" Dean challenged, heading to the bathroom. Right now, he really just wanted to hose the stench off himself. "What's it to you anyway?"

"I just thought—maybe you regretted throwing it away, that's all," Sam called through the open bathroom doorway as Dean stood at the sink and lathered his arms with soap up to the elbows.

"Isn't that what I said?" Dean called back.

"No—right," Sam agreed. "It's just, you know, I thought maybe you regretted it because _I_ gave it to you."

"What do you want from me, Sam?" Dean shouted, wheeling around and throwing his arms out, splattering the bathroom walls with water that left little trails as it trickled down the filthy tile. "Do you want me to say I'm sorry? Sorry that I threw away the present you gave me when I was _twelve_?"

"I dunno," Sam said, shrugging.

"Well, I am, ok!" Dean growled. "Happy? It was a dick move, I get it. But it's too late to do anything about it now, so let's move on. Now, I'm taking a shower. You might as well try to get some sleep—this place rents by the hour, so no point wasting time standing here arguing."

Sam murmured something to the floor, but Dean couldn't hear him from the other room.

"C'mon, man, say it or don't say it," Dean said.

"I said, 'it's not too late,'" Sam said. "For the amulet, I mean."

Dean took a step out into the bedroom, his head cocked to one side.

"Wait, what?" he said.

Sam sighed and shifted from one foot to the other.

"I thought you might feel bad, you know—not having it," he said, fixing his puppy eyes on Dean. "So I—I fished it out of the trash when you left the room."

"You did what now?" Dean said, his teeth clenched, blood pounding in his temples. He couldn't let the words sink in. Was Sam for real right now?

"Yeah," Sam said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of tangled black cord. He reached his hand out to Dean, who accepted the offering without taking his eyes from Sammy's. It wasn't until he felt the familiar weight of it in his hand—that gold mask cold in his palm—that he looked down. His amulet. No—Sam's amulet. It was back, here, in his hand.

Dean smiled despite himself. He untangled the cord, slipped it over his head, and dropped it in place. He sighed in contentment. This felt right. Funny how much he'd missed wearing this thing while Cas had it. He must've reached up a dozen times to resituate the cord before realizing it was gone. Dean rubbed his thumb against the gold face staring out at the world from its home nestled against his chest.

And then he looked up at Sam. His brother watched him with a smile to match his own, this one both shy and sad.

"Dean," he said. "About heaven, I just wanted to—"

"Shut up," Dean said. He blinked and put his stern face on. "Don't try and change the subject, Sammy. You have any idea how pissed I am that I rooted through the freaking _garbage_ looking for this thing, while you had it the whole time? You are going to owe me for the next, oh, five years at least."

"Dean," Sam said, shoulders relaxing, laughing a little. "You _still_ might not have it if it weren't for me."

"Hey, you don't know that," Dean said, pointing at Sam. "Now get some sleep, it's going to be a long day for you tomorrow, Sammy-boy. You're going to start working off that debt you owe me."

Sam snorted again, but he stepped over to his bed, about to flop into it. He paused when Dean disappeared into the bathroom again, this time closing the door and turning the shower on.

"Dude, you _are_ going to take that thing off when you shower, right?" Sam called through the door.

"We'll see, Sammy," Dean said, looking in the mirror and grinning at the reflection of the amulet hanging around his neck. "We'll see."


End file.
